🎉 Our next novel writing master class starts in –! Claim your spot →
Advice, insights and news
Free 10-day publishing courses
Free publishing webinars
Free EPUB & PDF typesetting tool
Launch your book in style
Assemble a team of pros
A weekly short story contest
Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2021
In the stories we tell, the body is a place of violence. We don't think about that, do we? The wolf-man, great dark eyes like the ocean and snapping slashing snarling teeth. The grandmother in his stomach. The huntsman and his rough hands and rougher axe. Strings of severed hands cast around the statues as warnings. There is more, I think, for me. The body of the woman. I have Medusa's s...
Danny grins right into the sun and revs the engine, nudging the speedometer past eighty. There’s not a sign of life for as far as he can see, until the ochre of the desert bleeds into the heat haze on the horizon. Just the endless sameness of rocks and dust and melting tarmac. It really makes the man beside him, tux rumpled and disheveled, hair a windswept mess, all the more interesting. He laughs, drapi...
Maybury was a quiet place. Five and a half thousand people lived in it, but it wound a long way out into Nevada desert. Less a town, more a collection of villages scattered through the prickly-pear cacti and low scrubland. Prometheus arrived in the mid-afternoon when the sun was patiently cracking open the sidewalk. Even the weeds between the cracks were limp with heat. The few people out kept their head...
“Will you come with me, Ari?” It was a punch in the gut. I actually felt pain in my stomach when I opened the door and Jack was there, tall and quiet under the grey sky, so much older than the last time I’d seen him. Then he spoke. Six words. And I was angry so fast it made my head spin, blurred him until all I could see was a mass of crimson, until I could have killed him with my bare ha...
“It’s like this,” Marta said, eyelids sleep-heavy. She leaned against the one intact chair in the dining room, relaxed enough to still seem a little bit drunk. Pratt squinted at her. “Like what?” “Like…” She gestured expansively around them. In the living room, the disco ball was still slowly rotating, the morning light casting a million silver glitters over the stained carpet an...
Katie Evans has not written a bio yet!
Oops, you need an account for that!
Log in with your social account:
Or enter your email: